


Cosmic Truths

by Little_Guy



Series: How to raise your bitty [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Angst, Forcibly Grabbed Soul, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Misgendering, Og Sans is... not great in this, Panic Attacks, Sans has some skewed views, Self-Harm, Superiority Complex, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), he's a bit of a spiteful ass and bitter, reset angst, theres not really fluff in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Guy/pseuds/Little_Guy
Summary: “For… for a monster whose font is lowercase… you,” His eyes drift to the soul In Slim’s chest, noting that it was still protected by a wall of bones, before turning back in. “you sure do talk in caps,” They shudder even as they finish it, their gaze flickering to the top of Sans’ head.He snorts, the sound ugly and startled as the skeleton’s first damn reaction is to make a joke after a panic attack.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Series: How to raise your bitty [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680895
Comments: 24
Kudos: 17





	Cosmic Truths

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like my take on Sans is probably not the most lied but... he's a very bitter dude. Sure, he tries his best but in my version of head canons and such he's been through the Resets longer than anyone else. Tampered with them even and his... dislike of humans is simply a well hid fact. So he's a bit, rough. 
> 
> Uhh, Warnings for a relapse in fear induced self-harm, referenced past torture, and a Soul is forcibly brought out without consent, and a relatively graphic breakdown, the misgendering tag is for the constant referencing of Slim as they and it. This is not really a /feel good/ work like the other parts, but it's one I made originally and feel comfortable posting. So, hey look actual progress on information!

“So… ya want to explain where the hell you’re from, pal?” The whole _agreement_ the other universes had come to didn’t really sit well with him. Sans didn’t _like_ the others, didn’t trust this _thing_ wearing Papyrus’ skin; because that’s what they all were. Different universes or not (which, he knew, without fault, rhyme, or rhythm, that they were real. Broken and mangled and ugly) all of them were monsters wearing their faces. Not _them,_ never _them._ He grins, a lazy thing, shoulders slouched and cap resting low on his head, Sans knew he was considered lazy, laidback, lethargic. All of it. “The others… they’re from the machine but you. You, you, you… showin’ up outta nowhere, one universe short of a _brother_.”

Papyrus would scold him if he knew this was how he was treating their _guest_ (as if the willowy thing could be considered that. Like all the others they were anomalies, had to be. Created from every mistake and choice that Sans, the monsters from his underground, Papyrus and even the human made every journey), he taps his hand on the table, eyeing the little creature. “‘S a little suspicious don’tcha think? How you’re so _different, wearin_ ’ my brother’s face, different size, couple of the same ticks.”

Slim shuffles where he stands, fingers rubbing at the sleeve of his sweater. Like Papyrus does, when he’s confronted with a situation he doesn’t necessarily want to deal with, but knows something. Something bad, something good, just something.

“Yer not gonna let this go are ya?”

“Nope,” He says cheerily, arms folding behind his head as he keeps the thing in his sights. “So, why don’t you start talkin’, huh? Can’t promise you nothin’, but depending I won’t send your copy some shreds.” The thing flinches, fingers twitching into the fabric; right, they all had some kind of issue. Papyrus had his own of course, but he was doing better than the copies at least, Sans made sure he was… as for _this_ he didn’t really care for the moment. Maybe stress would make it talk?

“What if I don’t want to…” his grin turns wide, eye sockets blacking out as he gets in the thing’s space, fingers pressing against the tiny rib cage (one little _squeeze_ and bye bye the threat would go; because this world wasn’t amazing. Fatalism only held so much worth when they were stuck in the never ending loop. And poof, that loop was gone) as it squirms, tiny _stolen_ soul fluttering with nerves. 

“I could make it quick then couldn’t I, buddy? Scavenge the dust and find out for myself,” They grimace, hand shoving into their pocket, no doubt to stop whatever damaging thing it usually did. “Not a fan? Can’t give me a _bone?”_

The grimace gets worse, the gold tooth practically digging into its lower jaw, “... you’ll upset the cap’in,”

Huffing, Sans pokes it watching as it stumbles back legs giving out from the nerves. It was such a sad little thing. They were all so sad; some things had to be the same in each universe, the red one had let that slip. And yet, none of them stayed prepared, let their sibling galavant off and away with the humans even though they had locked them up in the first place. What was stopping them from doing it again? From a new loop forming? _Kindness?_ Such a thing was far and fleeting from the humans. “What? You think your copy could take me? _Reset_ me? How ‘bout this, buddy, we see how our _karma_ works out? You tell me what i want to know and I don’t touch even the slightest bone on your body.”

Because, a bone wasn’t really a touch after all. They were the originals, and sure every other copy knew something, sometimes it was the same, sometimes it was different; they didn’t understand like he did.

It looks up at him, unblinking. Stare constant and heavy and Sans ignores the chill that runs down his spine; the little thing _knows_ something. “You won’t keep that.”

“Oh, I won’t? C’mon now buddy what do’ya take me for?” Even if his gaze gets a little more sharp. Socket tracing the slip of numbers etched into the thing’s bones, in a script Sans knew all too well: 🏱︎📫︎📁︎🗄︎. P-05. “a dirty brother killer?’

The stare doesn’t end. “Yes,” It’s a simple thing. A single word. And yet, he can hear all the venom in it, all the _judgment_ packed into and his grin turns dark, _aren’t you a smart little thing?_ He knew that the thing’s captain remembered. He wasn’t free of the resets either. “You wait, and wait and _wait_ . You talk about justice and judgment, but you never _judge_ yourself. Instead what do you do? You ignore it, just like you’re ignoring what you really think of me, _he looks like Papyrus, breathes like Papyrus, is Papyrus,_ but a Papyrus doesn’t remember? Do they? You talk mighty and hold yourself high about it being fate that made you _wait_ , because you couldn’t think of anything to actually he—”

_“Shut up,”_

“No!” It's a hiss, as their fingers dig into Sans’ sleeve as a sad attempt to get the grip coiled around him like a snake off. “Stop being a coward! I didn’t want to fucking see it, did you think I did?” see it. Not _lived_ it. He tugs the thing to eye level, forcing it’s soul to the surface, even as the strangled sob it lets out tugs at his core ( it doesn't. _It doesn’t. It doesn’t. itdoesntitdoesntitdoes)_ . It’s an ugly thing. Cracked and broken and _seared_ like his own. Experiment after experiment, after fucking experiment.

Guess the bastard was alive still. 

He looks at thei— _his_ face, face scrunched in agony, _pain, fear_ and lets the soul drop from his hand, watches as it slams into the tiny little body that should’ve fallen apart by now and is shielded by a wall of bones cropped up between Slim’s ribs and that soul. A harsh wheezing noise blasting at his skull like it was right next to him, the smaller skeleton convulsing even as Sans sets him down. Hands digging into the mark etched into the small area just under his skull, green mixed with red in an attempt to stop himself from causing any real harm.

His soul rumbles in his chest. Urging him to _run,_ to _leave_ , to _ignore_ the sight in front of him (because the little thing was right. He was a coward. He didn’t want to deal with any of this because things were easier to deal with if he just… let himself believe it was all set in stone) but his feet carried him to the kitchen drawer. Hands moving on their own as he looks on from outside his own body, aware but unfeeling as his body grabs the monster first aid kit. 

Sits at the table again. Doesn’t try to soothe them because sure, they were _a_ Papyrus, but they weren’t _his_ Papyrus. What could he say? Heh, sorry pal hadn’t meant to _rattle_ you so badly? He doubts the thing would appreciate it at this point.

So instead he moves, fingers plucking at the other skeleton’s hands even as he whimpers and cries, flinches away from him; probably sees the man who speaks in hands in Sans’ place. He had acted like the scientist after all. Sans was abysmal at green magic, couldn’t wedge up enough kindness for anyone except his real brother to even try. So instead Slim gets a patch designed by Alphys to help with the self-inflicted scrape (though, could they really be considered self-inflicted if Sans was the catalyst for them?) and he sits awkward silence-wheeze mixed intervals as the other monster tries to get himself under control.

“For… for a monster whose font is lowercase… you,” His eyes drift to the soul In Slim’s chest, noting that it was still protected by a wall of bones, before turning back in. “you sure do talk in caps,” They shudder even as they finish it, their gaze flickering to the top of Sans’ head.

He snorts, the sound ugly and startled as the skeleton’s first damn reaction is to make a _joke_ after a panic attack. “Yeah, well, can’t help that ‘m a little _loud_ sometimes… I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” it’s still wheezy and he hasn’t uncurled from his protective ball but… Sans can’t really find it in himself to blame the other monster. “Are you always this friendly?”

“Mmhm, just with people who’re down to have a fun time,” Slim glares at him, fingers curling tight into his own sleeves. 

“Anyone told’ya that you’re a prick?” Oh plenty. ‘Specially the kid. After so many loops they had just _burst_ . But, by then Sans had stopped caring about them. Stopped caring that maybe, just maybe _this_ will be the time that Papyrus got a friend (even if Sans was still always there, waiting, watching, _thinking_ of when they would finally slip up and commit a sin) or that they would enjoy the underground without seeking him out at the judgement hall for another round of kill or be killed. 

He blinks, offering a non-committal hum. “You. how the hell you end up with Gaster, pal?” He wouldn’t grab the other skeleton again, wouldn’t use _his_ way of getting information. Not when the other monster knew it so intimately, Sans had his faults but he wouldn’t be another fucking Gaster. 

Slim shuffles again keeping his back against the wall. Smart. “He… made me? Us?” Well, that wasn’t good, he didn’t even sound sure of it. “I don’t… I don’t remember a lot just… just the…”

The torture. The tests. He got it. 

“And. what you saw?”

A flinch ricochets through the monster's entire frame, another hair thin crack forming on their soul piece. Because that’s what it had to be. A piece of a soul. “Monsters dying… _me_ dying. Over and over and over,” Another shuddery breath as he squeezes his knees. Sans remembers being like that once. That was long ago. “I didn’t. I didn’t _know_ them, or I don’t think I _do?_ I saw monsters die all over, sometimes they looked the same, but different. And I didn’t _understand!”_

“Gaster?” He prompts, watching as the smaller monster shakes, sweat beading on his skull. Memory problems then. His soul probably forced him to forget before it broke entirely. 

It’s a scream. Not aloud, like a typical one, but Sans can see it. Fonts can be seen by other skeletons even when the magic wasn’t stable enough to come out as fully voiced things. 

> _It hurt it hurt it hurt why did he hurt me? why was i made? i don't understand i don't understand idontunderstand! why did he throw me away? what did i do? was i not good enough? why did he hurt me if i listened to everything he said? i tried and tried and tried and he threw me away. I just wanted it to stop._

He sighs, “Yeah, kid. That sounds like him.” 

> _I just wanted to be happy. Im happy now, why can’t you just let me be happy_

“I know, i know,” He should probably call the kid’s keeper. “One last thing, can’ya do that for me buddy?” Then again, the kid did tell him to stop being a coward. Maybe this time he could get rid of the bastard for good. “Did you know about your captain? Before you met him?’

> _I watched him die. I think… i think i was there once, and then it was just him, unhappy and dying and i didn’t understand why i was a success and why i kept having to see people i didn’t know get hurt over and over. Why did he get rid of me if I was a success?_

“Because he’s shitty kiddo.” tentatively he tries to pet the other skeleton’s head, maybe as an apology? He isn’t sure. “Gaster… uses us. Like pawns. He calls us a success and then when he isn’t amused anymore he gets rid of us however he pleases. I won’t… ‘m not gonna do nothin’ to ya. Let me just call your bro and we can.. We can forget this okay?”

It’s quiet. Tears spilling from the other monster’s sockets as his magic stabilizes enough, “You’re terrible.”

“I know.”

“Why did you do this to me? I didn’t want to remember, what if he gets rid of me now because ‘m…” _emotional?_ Broken? Imperfect? The list goes on and on.

“Because we’re all broken too, it’d make us hypocrites.”

Another sob. 

Sighing, he grabs the house phone, typing in a number he dials oh so rarely when Papyrus wants to invite everyone for dinner. “Hey, hey, yeah, uh, i think you should come and’ get your bro,” He can’t help, but wince at the volume he gets in return. He didn’t understand how the hell their fonts got so damn _loud._ “No, no, he just…” He glances at the table at the hunched over figure. “He had a bit of-a accident, y’know the claws and such. Yes, yes _i was watching him,_ just come get him… think you’re better for this anyway.”

He hangs up before the other him can bother with another loud as hell reply. “Chin up, buddy. Your… brother’s comin’ to get you,” another crack forms in that all to small soul and maybe, deep down he feels a little sorry. But, it wasn’t his Papyrus so it wasn’t his problem to fix was it? “Here, some tissues,”

**Author's Note:**

> Slim: literally having a breakdown
> 
> Sans: uhh sounds like a whole lot of not my problem


End file.
